


Second Opinion

by Arianne



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fingering, Implied facesitting, M/M, Medical Kink, Speculum use, Squirting, Stretching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianne/pseuds/Arianne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet sees Drift in the medibay after hours, and opens him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Opinion

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as a reply to a medical kink meme on [my Tumblr](http://garrulous-9.tumblr.com/post/109564421383/please-elaborate-ratchets-second-opinion-on-drift). I invited asks to give me a Lost Light character and I'd tell how their requisite medical exam went. I was asked about Drift, answered about his routine exam with Ambulon, and then asked to elaborate on his unofficial visit with Ratchet! This is that elaboration.

A round of routine medical exams had been ordered on the Lost Light, and after his thorough but thoroughly disappointing once-over with Ambulon, Drift burned for more. He'd hoped to see Ratchet, but he'd refused, citing personal involvement. And Drift could admit he was right, but it didn't stop him from asking Ratchet for a "second opinion", after hours in the medibay -- and for that, Ratchet didn't need convincing.

When Drift showed up after the medibay was darkened and otherwise deserted, he was the most eager “patient” Ratchet had ever had. Ratchet didn’t need to tell him that, Drift knew. He could tell from Ratchet’s half-amused, half-astounded expression as he practically bounced onto the medberth, already lying back. His valve panel had been retracted since Ratchet had pushed him up against the closed door of the private exam room and kissed him until his knees collapsed and the rest of him could do nothing but clutch at Ratchet and open his mouth for more.

"Get the stirrups," Drift begged. "I’ve needed this since —"

Ratchet cut him off with a hand held up. Right. Ratchet would rather not think about work. He wasn’t working now and that was why Drift is so excited. Ratchet pressed the button on the medberth that caused stirrups to extend, and even before he got his feet into them, he knew they were almost too wide. Way wider than what Ambulon used for his real exam earlier.

When he did work his feet in them, he could feel it spreading his valve lips already, just from how wide it was. It was wet in his center, and Ratchet hadn’t even touched him.

Ratchet stood between his legs. It was already so different. There was the little table for instruments that Ratchet pulled along, but no gloves, no chair for Ratchet to sit in at a respectable distance, no EM scrambler for patients who didn’t want to see what’s going on.

When Ratchet leaned over him and kissed the low abdominal plating between his hips, Drift couldn’t stop himself from squirming. Ratchet let him, and stood back up with a rare smile. “Where do you need my second opinion?” he teased, throwing Drift’s silliness back at him.

"In my valve," Drift said, playing along, "deep inside it."

"Let’s see here," and Ratchet had moved back, lowering himself to optic-level with his valve. Drift clenched his hands into fists, resisting the urges to cover his face. Ratchet had licked him there so many times, but this time he was held open wide, and Ratchet wasn’t licking, he was just looking.

And _touching_ , oh Primus, Drift cried out when he spread the lips even further. It exposed the more sensitive folds inside, framing his his anterior node and the opening of his valve.

"Hypersensitive," Ratchet noted in the same teasing tone, and rubbed his finger directly over the anterior node. Drift’s back arched off the table. When he’d calmed down, he smiled. Ratchet didn’t even pretend to threaten restraints like they sometimes played with.

"It’s so sensitive," Drift agreed, coming back down onto the berth, but still squirming. Ratchet’s strong fingers had moved even more inward, holding his smallest folds spread, but still not _in_.

"I wonder if that’s everywhere," Ratchet mused, and with no other warning inserted two fingers as far as his hand could reach.

Drift gasped. The stretch was minimal but the pressure alone, and the shock of it… his valve clenched, and he hadn’t even realized how close he was to overload until right now, with Ratchet’s invasive fingers rubbing all along his valve interior.

"Just relax, I feel the tension right here," and Ratchet did something that felt like it rubbed his anterior node through his valve, and with feet pressing hard against the stirrups, he fell into overload, surrendering to Ratchet’s strong fingers in an incredible tightness and a rush of fluids.

Before he could even come down from the rush, Ratchet was murmuring words he couldn’t comprehend yet and pushing back into him, holding him open, and Drift was resetting his optics to try to see when Ratchet pressed a warm, wide speculum into his dripping valve.

"Ratchet—" Drift cried out.

Ratchet stopped, holding the speculum still, halfway in. “Are you alright?”

"It’s a lot," Drift gasped. "Don’t stop!"

"I won’t," Ratchet assured, and he pushed it deeper, until the smooth edges brushed Drift’s ceiling nodes. "How’s that?"

Drift just moaned. How could Ratchet expect him to answer when he was still rubbing his valve, running his thumbs up and down and through the slick folds, and brushing his sensitive anterior node?

"I can open it," Ratchet said. _If you want_ went unsaid. Drift already knew it.

"Yes," Drift managed.

Ratchet knew what he was doing, and never did Drift appreciate it more. With one hand he eased the speculum open. Drift’s valve was relaxed, and it stretched wide, the firm metal pulling the sides apart. With his other hand, Ratchet could keep playing, rubbing along the spread lips, even as they spread wider.

And Ratchet knew exactly how much Drift liked to be stretched, and locked the device in position where it was just this side of uncomfortable, the pressure nearly unbearable, and so good that he kept trying to spread his legs in their stirrups to make even more room.

Ratchet waited, pulled back his hands, and when Drift finally had enough of that amazing static stretch and whimpered for more, he got it.

Ratchet pressed a finger firmly on the exposed, stretched mesh on the bottom of his valve, and Drift kept whimpering like he’d never felt anything like it before — had he? It felt like when he took a big spike, kind of, all that pressure, but so focused, and he didn’t even realize there were so many nodes in there.

But when Ratchet did more, when he found that same good interior node, and the external anterior node, and stroked both with the hard pressure he was sure only Ratchet could do, Drift screamed.

He started to overload and it never seemed to stop, like he was encompassed by pleasure, like Ratchet was pinching the his anterior node from the inside, rubbing some node that felt as deep as his protoform between his fingers back and forth, and the overload rocked with it, on and on, back and forth, ebb and flow of the energy wracking his frame into euphoric convulsions.

He gasped though it, and had long offlined his optics, and was making noises even he couldn’t identify. But Ratchet knew — he always knew — what was just enough for Drift and what was too much, and he always took good care of him, and maybe Drift was babbling that, he didn’t care, it was all true. Ratchet worked him down from it, never a crash, but a slow easing of pressure, until he’d milked so many fluids from Drift’s valve, and the stretch got easier as Ratchet worked the speculum closed, and Ratchet’s fingers had moved back to his folds, rubbing now to soothe the gaping entrance he had made.

Drift lay there, venting desperately, taking in as much soothing as Ratchet would give him and recovering his energy. When he could, he worked himself up to his elbows on the berth to look Ratchet in the optic. He hoped it’d convey the gratitude he felt… and the eagerness.

"Good?" Ratchet asked. He made no attempt to hide the hand that was rubbing the nub of his retracted spike, and his valve was open beneath it. His pelvic paneling was all wet, and Drift wondered if some of it was his.

"Almost," Drift said, with a devious smile beginning on his lips. He wiggled his frame, still drained from overload. "You might have to climb up here," he wiggled, his frame still so lethargic from overload, "but can I lick you?"


End file.
